


Every Day a Little Better, Every Night a Little Worse

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Altered Mental States, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Dissociation, Enemies to Lovers, Fight Sex, Friends to Enemies, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Blood, Pre-Timeskip, Reconciliation Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 13:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: Someone needs to cage that boar, or he's going to get himself killed.





	Every Day a Little Better, Every Night a Little Worse

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for White Clouds Chapter 10 (Pre-Timeskip Guardian Moon)

The boar was having yet another sleepless night. 

Felix could hear him through their shared wall, right from the dubious comfort of his own bed. He stomped about with those heavy footfalls of his, his voice rising and falling as he argued endlessly with voices only he seemed to hear. Occasionally things seemed to hit the wall, rattling it with the impact, and Felix wondered with his heart in his throat and his stomach in knots whether Dimitri was throwing things or merely slamming his fists heedless against the stone. He could break a hand, like that. He never had been very good at remembering his own strength. 

Worse, these sorts of nights were becoming less the exception and more the norm, as tensions within the monastery grew and the situation with their enemies seemed to hurtle toward an inevitable breaking point. Jeralt’s death had shaken everyone right down to their bones, and it seemed impossible that their Professor wouldn’t maneuver them into exacting vengeance, soon enough. 

But it wouldn’t be enough for the boar, he knew. That one hunted his own sort of vengeance, not for Jeralt, but for Duscur, always for the thrice damned Tragedy, and for some reason he seemed convinced beyond all sense and reason that spilling the Flame Emperor’s blood might bring him peace. 

Felix knew better. 

There would never be any true peace, not for him. There would always be more blood to spill, more blame to lay. His voice rose and fell, muttered, frenzied, muffled through stone that was layered simultaneously too thin and too thick, and Felix crossed his arms and clenched his jaw and tried without very much conviction at all to tell himself he didn’t care. He’d tried to warn them. The others, the professor, he had _told_ them. 

_Thunk._

The wall shuddered. Felix sat up, staring at it. 

He’d thought it would be vindicating, being proven right. Never had he imagined this sour pit in his stomach, this pressing weight on his chest, this restless need to do _something_ stymied by the knowledge that there was nothing to be done. 

No further sounds filtered in to him from the boar’s den, and yet, even the silence soon proved unbearable. What was he doing, in there? Certainly not sleeping. He hadn’t slept in days. Felix could see him in his mind’s eye, standing still and folded into himself, eyes sunken and hollow, lip curled, surrounded on all sides by his ghosts and memories and demons. 

There was nothing he could do. 

He told himself this even as he climbed out of bed. Scolded himself with that knowledge as he padded quick and quiet to the door and let himself into the hall. He had no plan, no words prepared. He crossed the short distance from his door to Dimitri’s, and then he stood before it for a time, berating himself. What good would it do? What could he possibly say? He was the last person who ought to be standing here, contemplating this problem as though it concerned him, as though it were personal, as though it were at all his responsibility. He had spent the entire year trying to distance himself from the beast beyond this door and the man he masqueraded as. 

Without much success, it seemed. 

He clenched his teeth, features twisted in a scowl, and raised a fist as though to knock. But, then -- knocking was a courtesy saved for the civilized. This was far from a polite visit between friends. Best not to treat it as one. 

He grabbed the handle with a quick, deep breath, a part of him hoping the door would be locked and bolted, and he could give up on whatever this madness was and return to his bed without the burden of guilt. 

So of course it opened with a click and a bang as he threw the damn thing wide, with force. 

And Dimitri looked up at him, pale and drawn, crouched in a far corner like a beast in truth. His hair hung in limp tangles, his lips were thin and chapped and bitten, and his eyes stared wide and rimmed from within sunken rings like bruises.

Felix sneered down at him, disgust and pity and crushing, crippling guilt all warring with abandon in his heart. “Get up,” he snapped. He couldn’t stand it. How could anyone have? 

Dimitri licked his lips, and slumped down onto his knees, instead. “Felix,” he sighed, lowering his gaze. He shook his head, then, and his eyes went dull and distant, as though the human soul behind them had snuffed out. Felix swallowed, hard, and wavered in the doorway. He shouldn’t stay. He couldn’t deal with this. He was the last person who should be here. 

And the only one who _was._

He stepped inside, and after a moment’s hesitation, turned and shut the door behind him. Dimitri didn’t react to the sound or movement whatsoever. His breathing was quick and shallow, his brow shined with sweat, and he still wore the same wrinkled, rumpled clothes he’d had on earlier in the day. Perhaps even the day before. 

Felix crossed the room to stand over him, fighting to keep his expression impassive. “Come on,” he insisted. “Stand.” 

Slowly, Dimitri tilted his chin up, and blinked at him. 

“Why are you here?” he asked, plainly. His gaze regained some clarity, and his eyes narrowed up at him. “You should know. I have no use for your needling. You have what you want. Are you not satisfied?” He hunched his shoulders, looking away. “Go home,” he said, voice dripping disdain. 

And the words stung. Felix flinched away from him, hating the pit that opened in his middle and all the things that festered deep within it, loathing the way Dimitri’s quiet dismissal dug hooks into his soul and made him shake with shame. 

“What I _want_,” he repeated, balling up the words and hurling them back into his face, spitting them as venomously as he could. “This.” He laughed, cold and mocking. “You think this is what I want? You’re losing control. Everyone is worried for you, you know. They think you are losing yourself to some sickness, but that isn’t quite right, is it?”

“No,” Dimitri said, softly. 

“Your mask is slipping, boar.” 

Dimitri blinked up at him, eyes flat, his features all hardening into impassive, shadowed lines. 

And then he stood, limbs unfurling slowly. Felix’s gaze followed him, up and up and up, until it was his chin tilted up in stubborn defiance and Dimitri’s eyes trained down. 

“Felix,” he said, and perhaps he only imagined the depth and layers in it, the quiet exhaustion and the tight exasperation and the painful touch of fondness. Perhaps, as ever, it was only wishful thinking. “Leave me be,” he said, and then he turned away, turned his shoulder and then his back to him, and Felix clenched his fists at his sides and fought the urge to scream. Or maybe just to start hitting him, and never stop. 

“Tell me _why_,” he hissed. 

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Dimitri said. “I knew… There is never any point, anymore. There is nothing to accomplish, here. Nothing productive…” 

“How long has it been since you slept.” 

A shrug. 

Felix lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Your headaches, again.” 

Quiet breathing, for a time. Then a nod, slow and thoughtful. 

“They used to brew you ginger tea,” Felix said, with hardly any thought at all. He could recall with startling clarity how he’d used to hover outside those great double doors, listening to his father and the physicians, trying to pick words out of those quiet, somber exchanges. “You’d chew raw willowbark until your mouth bled.” It had scared him, he remembered. “I could never understand how you bore the taste.” 

“Hah.” Dimitri snorted, and then he raised his hands and ran them over his face, through his hair, and exhaled, loudly. “Felix,” he said. “Go back to your room. There is no need for both of us to suffer.” 

“Is that what this is? Suffering? You could ask at the infirmary, you know. They’ll have something capable of tranquilizing even a hulking beast like you, I’m sure.” 

He glanced back at him, his eyes glittering in the half light from the open window. “No,” he said, simply. 

“Why _not?_ You can’t keep on like this. Even if we could corner and face the Flame Emperor and his dogs tomorrow, what use would you be? You’re exhausted, unsteady on your feet. I wouldn’t be surprised if the professor kept you from the fight entirely --” 

A laugh, low and sharp and so unsettling that whatever Felix might have said next dried up on his tongue. He took a step back. Dimitri didn’t seem to notice. 

“She is free to try,” he said. His tone dripped with malice. 

“Listen to yourself,” Felix hissed. “You speak like a man, but all I hear is a beast.” 

“It is all you’ll ever hear,” Dimitri agreed, impassive. 

“A base predator, driven by nothing better than the scent of blood. You and your honor, your ideals, you care for it all so very _deeply_, right up until you find another opportunity to revel in what you really are.” 

He nodded. “Does this make you feel better, Felix?” He turned and threw his arms out, gesturing expansively. “Go ahead. Say it all to me again. Tell me how hopeless I am, how you can hardly stand the sight of me. Drain it all out, here and now.” 

He bit his tongue, flushing hot. “Go to the infirmary,” he insisted. 

“Go back to your room.” 

“If you had any self awareness whatsoever --” 

Dimitri laughed, again, bitter and chilling. “I could say the same to you.” 

He bristled. “And what exactly is that meant to imply?” 

“Why don’t you tell me what you think it means?” Dimitri smiled, cold and grim, and Felix’s gut wrenched with humiliating distress at the sight. He’d seen that look before, distant and empty and utterly devoid of anything familiar, anything comforting, anything human. He clenched his fists, swallowing down another wave of unfathomable emotion. 

“Tell me _why._” He meant it to come out as a demand, sharp and authoritative, but instead it simply sounded pleading. Wheedling. The desperate wailing of a little boy who never had and couldn’t possibly understand. He clenched his jaw so hard it ached. “Tell me why, damn you. Tell me why this is happening.” 

An indifferent, one-shouldered shrug. “I suppose you’ve been right all along,” he said. “The beast craves blood.” His lips quirked into a lopsided, terrible sort of smirk. “I do not need to sleep to dream of it.” He raised his hands, and clenched his fingers slowly into fists. “I will not kill that creature quickly. It will recite for me all the names of those who died in Duscur. They will be the last words it ever utters before I pull its treacherous tongue from its mouth.” 

“You… fantasize about this.” 

The beast met his eyes, and nodded. “Every day,” he whispered. “Every night.” 

“Was it Duscur, that did this to you? Or did it merely free you to be what you always were?” 

“Duscur,” Dimitri closed his eyes, and sighed. “I can scarcely remember a time before it.”

Felix flinched back once more. All his best memories -- _their_ best memories -- and here he had the gall to say he hardly remembered. He lifted a hand and scrubbed furiously at his face. There was no sense to this, no point. “I see,” he said, quietly. 

“Felix,” Dimitri said, and now his voice was soft and gentle, full of sympathy, and it made Felix angrier than any of the spite and bile ever could have. His heart kicked up into a gallop, his pulse fluttering in his throat, and a red haze descended over his vision.

“Don’t,” he spat. “Don’t you dare speak to me like -- like,” he sputtered, face hot.

“I wonder, sometimes… if I could, would it make a difference? I know we were close. I know I have always thought of you fondly. I know you were always by my side.” He tilted his head. “I took your friendship for granted. I doubt I ever appreciated you as you deserved. I am sorry for that, and sorry as well that I have not proved worthy of your respect.” 

Felix drew in a long breath. Despair welled up in him, strong as the fury, mixing with it, churning with it, drowning him in poison. He closed his eyes, reminding himself viciously that he deserved to feel like this. What else could coming here have possibly achieved? 

“I don’t want your apologies,” he snapped.

“Then what do you want? To be left alone?” Dimitri sighed. “You came to me.” 

“I want you to be _better,_” Felix said. His breath hitched on the last word, and he took another step back, raising his hands, forestalling any commentary. He blinked furiously. “It’s pointless, you’re right. I keep forgetting. None of it was real, was it? None of it was ever real.” He cleared his throat, ducked his head. What a pathetic display this was! “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is this. If you fight like this, you’ll die. I’ve seen you in the yard, unsteady on your feet, slow and encumbered, half in a daze. I’ve seen you in your frenzy, too, blood crazed and mad with it, screaming heedless through the flames. You’ll _die._ Do you understand?” 

Dimitri gazed down at him, and something Felix couldn’t quite interpret passed behind his eyes. “I won’t,” he said, and for all the world, he sounded _sad_ about it. “Not before that creature and all his ilk have paid in blood. But, Felix…” he smiled, sad, so fucking _sadly._ “If I did… would that really be so bad?” 

He sucked in a breath, inhaling sharply. “What are you talking about,” he demanded. 

“What do we do with dangerous beasts?” Dimitri closed his eyes, a little smile flitting over his lips. 

“What the fuck are you saying, right now? What are you saying to me?” Felix stepped forward, one long stride and then another, and grabbed Dimitri by the front of his wrinkled, dirty tunic, balling his fist in the fabric. Dimitri’s eyes snapped open, and then narrowed, pinning him. 

“Nothing you have not said yourself, in so many words.” 

“Do you think I want you _dead?_” 

Dimitri said nothing. He merely pressed his lips together, gazing down at him with something almost like _pity._ Felix growled at him, shook him, as though he had a prayer of a chance at overpowering the boar with raw strength. As expected, he barely even moved, and then, with a flash of visible annoyance, he reached down and plucked Felix’s hands off him, grabbing him by the wrists. Felix made a furious sound and ripped himself out of his grip -- and then he lunged forward, arms out, hitting him open-palmed in the chest with all his strength. Caught by surprise, Dimitri stumbled backward, catching himself with his back flat against the wall. Felix followed him, stepping forward, and then he wound back and balled his fist and caught him in the gut with a fierce jab, practically snarling at him. 

Dimitri made a pained, shocked sound, and he lifted his arms to ward off further blows even as he doubled over with a hiss. Felix grabbed his hair in a tight, vicious handful, yanking him forward, craning his face up, leaning down to yell into his pinched, flushed face. “Are you _stupid?_” he demanded. “Have all these thoughts of bloody vengeance driven everything rational from between your ears, or are you just trying to piss me off?” 

“Felix --” 

“_Answer me!_” 

“Let _go--_” 

He twisted his fist, and Dimitri cried out, and Felix was too busy taking grim pleasure in the sound of his distress to notice the way his reflexive jerk backwards brought him in close, close enough that Dimitri was able to drive a knee right up into his belly. 

Pain exploded through him, red and ringing, forcing all the breath from his lungs. He staggered backward, clutching his stomach, and Dimitri followed up with a sharp, hard shove, sending him stumbling. He collided with Dimitri’s desk, sending papers and quill pens and an inkwell or two fluttering and rolling and bouncing to the floor. 

He couldn’t beat the boar in a fight like this. He knew that, absolutely knew it, but he coughed and hissed and growled and launched himself at him anyway, that red haze back over his vision. Dimitri braced himself visibly, blocking his first swing with a forearm. He caught the next in mid-arc, gripping Felix’s fingers tight. 

“Felix,” he breathed. 

“_Fuck_ you,” Felix spit. 

He twisted, pulling back and renewing the assault, his own mind empty of everything save for how angry he was, how hurt, how sick and sad and fucking _furious_ he was, how dare he? How dare he say such things and then expect Felix to simply _accept_ them, meek and quiet and bested by his admissions? Did he expect him to agree? Did he expect encouragement, implicit permission to die, to get himself killed? 

Dimitri fought defensively, hunched back against the wall, and when he spoke it was only to say Felix’s name in pleading tones, which -- of course -- only made him all the more furious. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, catching his wrists once more, breathing hard.

Felix laughed in his face, sweat running down his back, strands of loose hair sticking to his face, his neck. “Try it, boar,” he hissed, twisting out of his grip -- or trying, at least. Dimitri held fast, wearing a pained expression. He stepped forward, his grip tightening enough that something popped audibly in Felix’s wrist, sending pain shooting up to his elbow. He gasped, and then Dimitri swept himself around in a quick half step, turning Felix with the same sort of ease a grown adult might have treated a child with. He was so damnably _strong!_

“That’s _enough_,” Dimitri growled at him, practically scolding him, and if his voice was a bit nasal, well, at least it meant he’d taken at least one good hit. He deserved more. He deserved to be beaten to a bloody pulp, in fact. Felix opened his mouth to tell him so, and simultaneously, Dimitri twisted his arm up behind his back and shoved him forward, pinning him between his own body and the stone wall that separated them, most nights. 

Felix laughed, harsh and unpleasant in his own ears, his breath leaving him in ugly, ragged gasps. 

“It’s not,” he wheezed. “It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. It doesn’t matter, does it? Whatever I say, whatever I do, you’ll never understand.” 

“Perhaps if you’d deign to _explain_,” Dimitri said, and he sounded so -- affronted, so very vexed, so like _himself_, he couldn’t stand it. His eyes prickled with tears, and he snapped his head back, catching Dimitri full in the face with the back of his skull. 

Dimitri swore roundly, staggering backward, clapping his hands to his face, and Felix spun to press the advantage. His wrist and arm and shoulder all throbbed with pain, but he could handle pain.

“There’s nothing to explain,” Felix hissed at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving, hard as he could. Dimitri stumbled away, but not before grabbing the front of Felix’s nightshirt in one hand. Fabric stretched and a seam tore with a loud, ugly sound, and they both went careening to the floor -- Dimitri flat on his ass, and Felix awkwardly over him. He tried to pull away, to regain his feet, but Dimitri held fast to his nightshirt, and with one quick show of his ridiculous, impossible strength, he lifted Felix as though he weighed nothing at all and flipped their positions, slamming him flat on his back against the stone. 

Starbursts exploded behind his eyelids in streaks of brilliant white. 

He sprawled there, chest heaving, struggling for breath, but Dimitri seemed not to notice the fight evaporate out of him. He knelt over him, pinning his wrists overhead, face flushed and eyes bright and a few fresh welts marking his features, Felix couldn’t help but note with some bleary satisfaction. Not to mention the blood running from his nose, over his lips, down his chin. Good. He deserved it. He deserved worse. 

“If you want to die so badly,” he wheezed up at him the very moment he had breath enough to speak, “You ought to just let me kill you.” 

“I didn’t say I _wanted_ to die,” Dimitri said, all long suffering patience, all fine, chivalrous, put upon prince once more. “In fact, I don’t. My point was only that perhaps it would be fitting. A denouement, of sorts…” 

“You are _unbelievable._” Felix struggled feebly in his grip. “This isn’t some story. This isn’t a vacant tale of glory and struggle and redemption for you to rewrite everything neatly into and then put a fitting ending on!” 

“And yet end it will, one way or another,” Dimitri said, gazing down at him so seriously. “Perhaps sooner than later, as you say.” He shook his head, and gave a rueful, wet and stuffy sounding laugh, licking his lips, smearing blood over them. He winced. A drop fell from his chin and onto Felix’s shirt. “I haven’t slept in three days,” he admitted, softly.

“It doesn’t end here. The Flame Emperor. You think he was the mastermind behind all your suffering? A creature like that doesn’t rise from nothing. He’ll have allies and co-conspirators. Will you go sleepless and haggard until you have those heads for your collection, too? You’ll die before you can even get their names.” 

Dimitri nodded, slowly. And then he smiled. 

It wasn’t a false smile, either. Not a beast’s fanged grin, sharp and cold and absent of humanity. It was soft and sincere and painfully genuine, lighting up his bruised and bloody face. Felix sucked in a desperate breath and squeezed his eyes shut against it, turning his face away, willing the tangled, desperate, confusing emotion that welled in him to stay buried down, far down where it belonged. 

“It’s funny, in a way,” Dimitri said, quietly. He released one of Felix’s wrists, and cloth rustled. Felix cracked an eye open, and saw him raising a sleeve experimentally to his face, dabbing at his nose, wiping the blood dripping from his chin. He flexed his fingers. “This is the first time in three days I’ve felt... here. Present. I spend so much time in my own thoughts, of late…” 

“If you’re going to have headaches, you may as well have a good reason,” Felix said. 

Dimitri gave him startled look, and dropped his blood-stained sleeve with a wet little snort. “Was that a joke?” he demanded. “_Felix._” 

Felix raised the arm he’d freed and flung over his own face, pressing the back of his forearm over his eyes. “I won’t let you die,” he said, trying his best to ignore the way his face heated at the words. “Do you hear me? I won’t allow it.” 

“Understood,” Dimitri said, quietly. “Thank you, Felix.” 

“Don’t thank me. It’s at least half spite.” 

“And the other half?” 

Felix lowered his arm, peering up at him. “Get off me,” he demanded. 

“I’m not sure you can be trusted so fully, just yet,” Dimitri said, squeezing the wrist he still held down against the floor. 

“Boar --” 

Dimitri covered his mouth with one hand, and it was the shock of it more than any actual effectiveness that made Felix stop talking. In fact, his breath left him completely. 

“I want you to explain,” Dimitri said. “What wasn’t real? Felix. My memories... “ he frowned. Shook his head. “It’s… muddled, at times. Of course I remember you. Us. It’s simply hard to remember _myself…_”

Felix bit him. 

Not hard. Still, Dimitri yelped, snatching his fingers back. Felix licked his lips, and tried his level best not to think about the salt of his skin. “Get _off_,” he growled. 

“Tell me,” Dimitri said. His gaze bored into him, soft and curious and implacable. 

Felix cursed under his breath, struggling feebly beneath him. Dimitri gave him no quarter whatsoever. “You’re deranged, you know that? Someone might walk in at any moment. What will they see? What are they like to think?”

Dimitri gave him a puzzled look. “As though this is a particularly rare occurrence,” he scoffed. 

Felix grit his teeth. “In your bedroom. After curfew. On the floor.” 

Dimitri blinked at him, and for a moment, Felix thought he was going to play stupid again. He really was preparing to just fill his lungs and scream at him until he relented or someone actually did burst in to investigate... but then Dimitri flushed slowly, pink creeping up from his neck to suffuse his whole face.

But he didn’t let him go. He simply raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. “Felix,” he scolded. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m simply protecting myself from your temper.” 

“My temper,” Felix repeated, flatly. 

Dimitri nodded, all focused solemnity. 

“Though I wonder, what might make you think…” 

“Get _off,_” Felix said again, and this time, it sounded suspiciously like begging. He flushed. 

“I seem to recall, when we were younger…” Dimitri tilted his head. “Ah. Didn’t you used to demand to hold my hand, when…” 

“I was _six._” 

“Ah, I remember, though!” Dimitri outright grinned at him, and Felix had to close his eyes again, swallowing hard. “You weren’t six years old the last time you slipped into my room after curfew. Hm, you must have been at least twice that…” 

“Maybe I _will_ kill you,” he hissed. “I’ll put you down, boar. I’ll choke the life out of you with my own two hands, if I have to.” 

“I remember falling asleep with your hair up my nose,” Dimitri said, thoughtfully. “Glenn was off on assignment, and you never slept well while he was away. I wanted so badly for you to have a good night’s rest --” 

“_Why?_” Felix demanded, breathless, pained. It was too much. His chest hurt, his throat ached, his head throbbed. He sucked in a breath through his nose, and it sounded suspiciously wet to even his own ears. Fuck. “Stop it. Why now? You’ve said enough. You’ve humiliated me _enough_, is it not enough for you?” 

“No, I…” Dimitri shifted atop him, and Felix grit his teeth tight. “Felix. I’m trying. I can’t…” he took a breath, and Felix opened his eyes in time to watch him hang his head, his unwashed hair hanging limply around his face. “I can’t forgive them. I can’t forget what they did. I can’t go on without knowing that soon, they’ll be dead…” he swallowed, audibly. “But I can try. For you, I… can’t I try? To be better? Or am I truly a lost cause, to you?” 

Felix exhaled softly, audibly, half a sob. Pathetic. Embarrassing. He shook his head. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought,” he said, hating the way his voice wavered. “Or I did, maybe.” 

“Both,” Dimitri agreed. “But that isn’t an answer.” 

“You’re…” Felix flicked his fingers at him. “You’re you. Boar prince. ...King, one day, and preferably soon. You’re not fit yet to rule, that’s true, but your Kingdom is falling apart in front of your empty throne.” He bared his teeth up at him, curling his lip. “I swore an oath, when my father gave me my very first sword, that I would always swing the thing in your service. So, no. You’ll never be a lost cause. So long as you’re _alive._” 

Dimitri closed his eyes, something utterly unreadable passing over his features, crumpling over his brow and nose and lips and exhaling on a shuddering breath. 

“I don’t intend to die,” he said. “Felix,” he sighed. He reached down for him, sliding his hands up either side of his face. Felix gaped up at him, eyes wide, his lips parting in shock as Dimitri swept his thumbs over his cheeks and smiled down at him. “You’re very good at reminding me of what a beast I can be,” he said. “You’re not wrong. But I need you, too, to remind that I’m human. I need…” he ducked his head. He still had blood drying on his lips, smears he’d missed with his sleeve. “I need a good beating, from time to time,” he conceded. “But, I… if you still…?” 

“What are you asking,” he demanded, voice hoarse. 

Dimitri bent forward and brought his face in close, so close, too close. Felix held his breath. “Do you still want me to hold your hand?” he asked, softly. “Do you still want me to hold you close and stroke your hair while you sleep?” He licked his lips, so close his breath puffed against Felix’s face in warm little bursts. “Do you still want me to kiss you, Felix?” 

He couldn’t possibly have said it. The word stuck in his throat, caught in his teeth, he could have died choking on it. But Dimitri was so close, so damned _close_, it was the easiest thing in the world to tilt his chin up and bring their lips together. 

And he thought for certain that Dimitri would pull back, spit and swear or perhaps just laugh at how desperately pathetic it was. He prepared himself for it, steeled himself for his mockery, armored himself against all the fully deserved curses and insults to come… 

So of course, he was entirely unprepared to feel those coarse, scarred fingers slide gently into his hair, to feel those blood stained lips part in breathy invitation against him, to hear Dimitri groan sweetly into his mouth and feel him dart his tongue between his lips and taste him with deep, greedy, breathtaking, toe-curling abandon. Slowly, hesitantly, he brought his own arms up and around him, his fingertips dragging through the short, coarse hair at the base of Dimitri’s neck, a desperate, disbelieving moan falling from his lips, buzzing against Dimitri’s. Tears tracked from the corners of his eyes down the sides of his face and collected in his hair, and Dimitri ran his thumbs over the tracks they left, sweet and good and _perfect_, and it was too much, too much, it was too much by far. 

He turned his face away, breathing hard, face flushed, thoughts all scattered and fragmented and churning incoherently in his brain. Dimitri pulled back, just a fraction, and hummed a question. 

“Felix…” he breathed, softly.

“Not like that,” Felix gasped, chest heaving. “Please. I can’t, not like that, Dimitri, please.” 

Dimitri sucked in a breath, stilling atop him. “Ah,” he said, eyes wide. “Say it again,” he demanded, and Felix just gaped at him, uncomprehending. “My name,” he clarified, gripping him by the shoulders, squeezing tight. “Say it again. Felix.” 

Right. His thoughts skipped like stones over a still pond. “Dimitri,” he said. 

“Yes,” Dimitri whispered. “Good.” He dragged his thumbs down over Felix’s collarbones, stretching the collar of his nightshirt. “Tell me what you want.” 

He rolled his hips. Closed his eyes. Clenched his teeth. “I don’t want -- soft. Sweet. _Gentle,_” he said, face burning. “I can’t stand it. I can’t _bear_ it. You can’t, do you hear me? You can’t do this to me. Dimitri. It’s not fucking fair, do you understand? You can’t.” 

“Ah…” Dimitri’s thumbs stilled. He returned the roll of Felix’s hips with pressure of his own, bearing down against him, making a considering sound. Felix heard his breathing go quicker, more shallow, practically panting. It made him feel too hot, light headed, trapped beneath him as he was. “Do you want me, Felix? Hard and rough and demanding?” 

_Fuck_. His cock, already half-hard between them, _jumped_ at that, and Dimitri laughed, quietly, a little shiver of that bloodthirsty beast Felix knew all too well threaded through the sound. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

This was a dream, he thought. He’d fallen asleep listening to the boar pace and posture and mutter, and his sick brain had invented this scenario, dug through all the ill considered fantasies of his youth to torture him with this. 

“Felix,” Dimitri repeated, shifting to press his thigh against the hard and obvious line of Felix’s arousal. Felix practically _whimpered._ Fucking humiliating! He sucked in a deep breath.

“This isn’t real,” he said, faintly. 

“Oh?” Dimitri shifted purposefully, dragging his thigh over Felix’s cock through his pants, making him squirm and gasp and curse. “Is it a dream you have often?” 

“Yes,” Felix said, simply, and it was gratifying, actually, to feel _Dimitri_ pause, to hear him inhale sharply, to feel _his_ body respond. 

“Beatings included?” Dimitri wondered aloud. 

Felix choked out a pained, embarrassed laugh, flinging his arm back over his own eyes. “Of course,” he said. 

Dimitri echoed his laughter, and then he bent and captured his lips again. 

And, as requested, it was nothing like those first few kisses, that first searing, incandescent, utterly inappropriate experience. There was no lingering sweetness in this kiss. It was half scraping teeth and half demanding tongue, plunging greedily past Felix’s lips to claim his mouth. Felix made a surprised, approving sound, groaning and reciprocating in kind, taking Dimitri’s bottom lip between his own teeth and biting until he tasted salt and iron. 

Dimitri made a soft sound and pulled back, snaking his fingers deep into Felix’s hair to grip a handful tight by the roots. Felix gasped, the pain of it sending fresh tears trickling from the corner of his eyes -- and sparks of indisputable pleasure skating down his spine to settle as sweet heat in his core. 

“Like this?” Dimitri whispered, his gaze burning into him from above. Felix squirmed beneath him, the cold stone burning into his back through his shirt. Dimitri shook the fist in his hair, and Felix let his head loll atop his neck and a moan fall from between his lips. 

“Yes,” he gasped, and his face burned anew at the sheer, overwhelmed pleasure in his voice. Dimitri made a sound -- an appreciative one, Felix thought -- and claimed his mouth once more. The hand that wasn’t fisted in Felix’s hair went flat against his skin beneath his shirt. Felix scrabbled his own hands against the back of Dimitri’s longer tunic, tugging at the hem of it, but then Dimitri’s fingers found one of his nipples and pinched -- hard -- and he cried out, settling for tightening his fingers in the fabric at Dimitri’s back. “Just like that,” he gasped, arching his back against the stone.

Dimitri brought his mouth to Felix’s neck, biting half moon marks into the skin there, making him gasp and jerk and beg. He swayed his hips desperately, searching for Dimitri’s leg, or anything similarly unyielding that he might relieve some, any of the building pressure between his legs with, but Dimitri pressed his palm over his belly and held him down and denied him that relief, lifting his own body out of reach. 

And Felix whimpered, squirming and desperate for it, thinking again that this couldn’t possibly be real. But no dream had ever given him such sharp, shocking pain, or treated him to the distinct pleasure of scraping his nails into Dimitri’s scalp and feeling his entire body shudder, or featured Dimitri taking the shell of Felix’s ear between his teeth and biting until he howled while he held his hips mercilessly down against the cold floor, preventing all his clumsy attempts to search out friction, pressure, relief, release. 

“Come on,” he heard himself beg, eventually, his face wet with sweat and tears and their mingled spit. “Dimitri. _Boar._ Come on,” he gasped. “Take it. Just fucking take it, please, take me, please, Dimitri, _please._” he sucked in a desperate breath, sweat pooling between his shoulder blades, dripping down into the small of his back. He still wasn’t convinced this wasn't going to end prematurely with vicious mockery, all of it very much deserved. 

Dimitri bent himself at the waist and pressed their faces together, brushing his lips over Felix’s temple, smoothing his fingers through tangled, sweat-soaked strands of hair. “You want it?” he murmured, tucking that lock of hair behind Felix’s ear, unbearably fucking gentle. Felix tried and failed to pull away beneath him, trapped in his arms, pinned by his body. He sucked in a ragged breath, and made a disapproving sound. 

“Stop that,” he begged. 

Dimitri stopped, pulling his face just a fraction of an inch over Felix’s. “But you want it?” 

“Rough,” Felix reminded him. “Hard. None of that romantic shit, Dimitri, please.” 

Dimitri nodded, slowly. “As you like,” he said, which was in itself too fucking romantic to suit the request. Felix growled at him, and Dimitri hummed back. 

And then reached down to tear through Felix's laces without care or thought for preserving either string or fabric. Seams tore, Felix gasped, and Dimitri hauled his newly ruined pants unceremoniously down over his hips. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he warned, and then he rocked himself backward and onto his knees, gripping Felix’s legs just behind the knees and using that position to haul his lower half up. Felix squeezed his eyes shut, his breath going fast and shallow and labored, again, his cock throbbing in the open air. Dimitri paid it no mind whatsoever. 

Instead, he pulled Felix into his lap and pushed his thighs roughly apart, spreading them atop his legs, wide enough that it was uncomfortable -- which was what he’d wanted, of course. His cock stood stiff at attention, dribbling those first hints of fluid onto his stomach, but still Dimitri paid it no mind. Instead he reached behind Felix to trace down the line of his back, between his cheeks, poking and prodding those big, thick fingers of his down the line of his ass until he found what he was after, there. 

That first press of his finger against his entrance was nearly enough to make him come, then and there. But he held his breath and clenched his thighs and endured, and Dimitri rewarded him -- by pulling his entire hand away with a considering sound. Felix gaped at him, disbelieving. 

“Don’t -- stop,” he snapped. He needed more. He’d never been so desperate to come in all his life. His cock throbbed against his stomach, flushed red and pink and painfully hard, and he could see the outline of Dimitri, too, pressed tight against his pants. 

In response, Dimitri shot him a withering look, and then he reached forward and caught Felix’s chin in one hand, craning it upward. With his other hand, he pressed the pads of his first two fingers against Felix’s lips.

“Do me a favor,” Dimitri rasped, teasing his fingers over the line of Felix’s lips. 

Felix opened his mouth, eager for it. 

Dimitri’s fingers were not nearly so long or thick as his cock, but Felix couldn’t help but make the comparison as those digits slid between his lips and over his tongue. He sucked at them eagerly, meeting Dimitri’s eyes defiantly as he did, circling his tongue over his fingertips. Dimitri’s mouth fell open, and -- oh, yes -- there was no denying the effect it had on him, causing his pupils to dilate and that line in his pants to swell even further. Dimitri added a third finger, and Felix worked to accommodate him with as much enthusiasm as he had -- which, for this sort of thing, turned out to be quite a lot. 

He found himself wishing Dimitri might just grab his hair and drag his mouth bodily up to service his cock. Half out of his mind with anticipation and pleasure, he wanted that almost as much as he wanted to feel Dimitri fill him in great, powerful thrusts, claiming him in long strokes from base to tip, driving him into the stone… 

He whimpered around Dimitri’s fingers, flaring his nostrils, keenly aware somewhere in the back of his mind that he was going to deeply regret this, once he’d banked the terrible heat roaring through him and his mind caught up with his actions. 

But that was some time away, yet. For now, he had Dimitri withdrawing his wet fingers, leaving Felix’s lips and chin slick with spit from his efforts. Dimitri spread those fingers, considering, noting the way strands of saliva hung delicately between them, glistening in the silver moonlight. He grinned. Felix flushed, turning his face away. 

“Get on with it,” he snapped, rolling his hips. 

“As you wish,” Dimitri repeated, teasing him even as he returned his fingers to Felix’s entrance, sliding the pad of his longest finger experimentally against the ring of muscle, there. Felix held his breath, his face blooming already with fresh heat. “Tell me if it’s too much,” Dimitri ordered him, and Felix opened his mouth to curse him, to order him to just fuck him, already, but then Dimitri pressed that slicked up finger deep inside in one smooth motion, and instead of harsh words all that passed his lips was a breathy, eager moan of sheer delight. 

“Oh,” he breathed, rolling himself against that intrusion, licking his lips. “More,” he insisted, panting. “Come on. More, this is nothing. Fill me up.” 

Dimitri eased that finger in and out of him a few times, making Felix’s cheeks blaze and his breath hitch, and then, obediently, he added a second finger. This, now, had a pleasing stretch to it, a sensation not just of being filled but also _opened_, and Felix groaned as his cock jumped and wept and Dimitri went on ignoring it entirely. He gritted his teeth, flexing his hole around that cautious intrusion, all his nerves alight with the feeling of it, the simple pleasure.

Felix could feel Dimitri’s eyes on him, watching his face as he stretched those fingers inside him, making him roll his head back and moan his approval up to the ceiling, to the rafters above their rooms, to the eaves and the heavens and the stars beyond.

He added a third finger without any warning whatsoever, and Felix’s mouth fell open, his breath leaving him in desperate, breathy pants. There was a sweet burn to it, now, not just an opening, but an _invasion_, and he relished the feel of it, the ache and the sweetness, the sparks of bliss through his body and up his spine. His balls ached with his delayed pleasure, and when Dimitri curled those three fingers within him and pressed hard against his inner walls, Felix’s eyes popped open with each thrust and he cried out, his cock positively dribbling. It was disgusting, demeaning, humiliating, and he loved every moment of it.

The dreams had never been so good.

When Dimitri withdrew his fingers, he gripped Felix again by the back of the knees, curling him up around himself. Felix braced himself against the stone, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of being held open like this. 

“Remember, boar,” he hissed. “Hard and rough. Fuck me like the animal you are.” 

Dimitri made a humming sound, and drew a sharp intake of breath. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said. 

“Stop, and I’ll kill you,” Felix growled. 

So satisfied, Dimitri bent Felix further forward, curling his ass further into the air, and guided himself clumsily into place. He teased him, first, dragging the thick head of his cock against Felix’s loose and eager hole, shifting his hips, moaning quietly as he rutted against him without actually filling him, his fingers digging into Felix’s legs with bruising strength. 

“_Boar,_” Felix snapped, when he could take no more of it, and though he meant it to sound furious and demanding, he really just sounded horribly, desperately needy. Dimitri opened his eyes and smiled down at him, baring his teeth. 

Felix’s heart actually skipped a beat. 

And then Dimitri pushed forward, against him, _into_ him, and all coherent thoughts fled before a tide of equal parts anticipation and terror. Dimitri stretched him wide, wide around him, and for a long, tense moment Felix was certain it wouldn’t work, that his body would break, that Dimitri was going to kill him with his thrice damned cock and what the blue hell would they tell his fucking _father?_

His fingers scrabbled against the stone, his head shook from side to side, and his jaw hung slack and open, incoherent sounds falling from between his lips… but he didn’t beg for mercy, didn’t tell him to stop, and soon enough Dimitri was sheathed to the hilt within him and babbling sweet, pretty nonsense of his own. 

“Felix,” he gasped, bent over him, shivering from head to toe. He blinked his eyes open, gazing down at him, and Felix met his eyes and nearly drowned in the hunger and adoration that warred within them. “Oh, Felix, _yes_,” Dimitri gasped, rolling his hips, shaking his head, tilting his chin back and moaning his delight. His pleasure was like a mirror held up to Felix’s own, reflecting it back, magnifying it, and Felix struggled bent and curled as he was to watch Dimitri’s face as he drew back all the way to the tip and then filled him anew in one long, deep, breathtaking thrust. 

“_Fuck_,” Felix cried, voice breathy and high and desperate. “Dimitri! Fuck! Please!” 

“Oh, yes,” Dimitri agreed, repeating the motion, and Felix reached blindly up for him, for his hands, for his forearms, gripping him tight, rocking his ass to meet Dimitri’s thrusts. “Yes, oh yes, oh, Felix,” Dimitri moaned, and then he tossed his head back and pulled Felix closer and shook as he moved his hips in quick, demanding thrusts. 

And it was perfect, Felix thought, clinging to his arms, barely able to breathe around his own cries of mounting pleasure. The feel of it, the burn, the ache, the shock of feeling momentarily empty and the following thrill from head to toe as Dimitri filled him anew, the distinct feeling of being used, the way he was curled and bent heedless of his own comfort so that Dimitri could sink deeper into him, so that Felix could take _all_ of him… 

Just the fact that it was Dimitri at all. Dimitri, inside of him. Dimitri, taking his pleasure of him. Dimitri, gazing adoringly down at him. “Dimitri,” he gasped. “Make me,” he cried. “Make me come, Dimitri,” he begged, desperate, toes curled, every nerve afire. “I’m close, please, close, close, make me, make me, make me, _Dimitri!_” 

He’d never experienced anything like it. His body seized and his vision whited out, he felt his mouth fall open, and then there was nothing but relentless, unbearable pleasure as his cock pulsed and emptied itself against his own chest and stomach, folded brutally over himself the way he was.

When he came back to himself, he found Dimitri’s eyes locked with his, intense and burning into him. Dimitri kept his pace, his thrusts long and hard and endless, grunting each time he filled him, something utterly inscrutable in that unflinching gaze. Felix blinked up at him, slicked head to toe with sweat and utterly overstimulated, back arching against the stone and a cry falling from his lips each time Dimitri slid past that aching, incredible spot deep within. Dimitri’s sounds of pleasure were wordless and harsh and guttural, and Felix struggled to hold his gaze through the haze of pain and pleasure assaulting all his senses. He shook his head, his hair falling over his shoulders, sticking to his forehead, catching in his mouth. Dimitri was staring right at him, into him, _through_ him, and he barely seemed to see him at all. 

“Dimitri,” Felix rasped, hoarse and whimpering and desperate. “Dimitri, _please_,” he begged, crying out as Dimitri's cock dragged viciously past that aching ball of nerves within him, making him seize in pain and pleasure, squeezing fresh tears from his eyes. “_Dimitri,_” he begged. “Dimi -- ah, fuck, _fuck_, I can’t, _Dimitri_, I can’t,” he reached up for him, desperate, his heart galloping too fast somewhere high in his throat. “Dimitri… Dimitri... “ his cries were hoarse, pleading. He tried to squirm away, to escape, but Dimitri’s iron grip held him fast, and so he simply endured, trapped in breathless agony. He struggled weakly, gasping for air, for reprieve, for relief. “Dima,” he whimpered, his voice small and hitched and exhaled on a sob. 

And Dimitri startled above him, that absent awareness snapping back into his gaze, pouring back into him all at once. His brutal, relentless thrusts slowed, his grip on Felix's legs loosened, and something shocked and horrified flashed plain as day on his face, just for a moment. 

And he stopped. 

Felix sobbed with relief, sucking in great, shuddering breaths, and Dimitri pulled out of him, making him gasp anew with how horribly, achingly, confusingly empty he was -- and then Dimitri was gathering him up against him, brushing the sticky, sweaty hair out of his face and off his forehead, tucking it gently behind his ears and stroking his face. 

“Felix,” Dimitri whispered, soothing, gentle, touching his face, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. “Oh, Felix,” he murmured. “Oh, Goddess, Felix, I…” he cast about, helplessly, and then -- he was so _fucking_ strong -- he bent and lifted Felix into his arms, standing smoothly with nothing but a grunt of effort to show he felt the weight of him at all. “It’s all right,” he whispered, while Felix struggled both to breathe and to understand just what was happening, especially when Dimitri laid him out atop his bed and crouched beside him, running his fingers down his jawline, using his thumbs to wipe away his tears. 

It was some time before Felix trusted himself to speak. 

Dimitri remained there the entire time, crouched and then kneeling beside the bed, stroking his hair, his face, down his neck and over his shoulders, murmuring endearments and encouragements both. He used a corner of a sheet to clean Felix off, wiping the saliva off his face and then the seed from his body, thorough and gentle, bending to kiss his lips when he was done. 

“Dimitri,” Felix said, in the most severe tone he could possibly have mustered, given the circumstances. Dimitri paused, his anxiety visible in the tension he held himself with, in the way he bit his lip and raised his eyebrows and seemed to be awaiting judgement. “Excuse you,” he said. “I don’t… recall telling you… to stop,” Felix breathed, knitting his eyebrows up at him, glaring outright. 

Dimitri’s lips parted, but all that came out was a breathy, astonished exhalation. 

And then he dropped his forehead to Felix’s shoulder, laughing desperately. Felix wrapped his arms around his shoulders and buried his face in Dimitri’s hair, holding him while he laughed, and then too when that laughter became a series of quiet, breathy little sobs. 

When he was done, face wiped of any incriminating tears, Felix nudged his shoulder and grinned up at him, baring his teeth. “Next time,” he promised. 

“Ah,” Dimitri said, flushing prettily, ducking his head. Felix held his arms out, and Dimitri joined him gladly, happily, standing and climbing over him and into the bed to settle close beside him. “Next time,” he agreed, a touch of wonder in his voice. 

Felix scoffed at him, and then turned to pillow his head on Dimitri’s shoulder, throwing one arm over his chest. “You smell like shit,” he informed him, his voice and lips buzzing against Dimitri’s skin, slurred with the onset of utter exhaustion. 

Dimitri made a soft, considering sound, pulling him closer, tucking his chin atop his head. Felix grumbled, but he was already half asleep, and a moment later, he was gone. 

And Dimitri held his hand, and stroked his hair, and smiled soft and sweet and sad, waiting for the whispers to resume.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter: [@landofsmthsmth](https://twitter.com/landofsmthsmth)


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